Drawing the Story
by jayden
Summary: Xander's life becomes all the more complicated when new feelings are discovered and new possibilities tested. (slash) Second chapter added.
1. Default Chapter

Notes: This is set between Storyteller and Lies My Parents Told Me. This first part is Xander's P.O.V. It's introspective, bordering on stream of consciousness but not quite as disorganised.  
  
***  
  
Complicated. That should be my middle name: Alexander Complicated Harris. It's far more suitable and less embarrassing than LaVelle in my opinion.  
  
Every night that I spend in the Summers' home rather than my own dingy place, I creep down stairs to the living room, curl up in a chair and watch him as he sleeps on the couch. I don't know what it is that draws me too him. I think it's the pure innocence that shines through him in spite of everything he's done or been an accomplice too. He took the life of his best friend, and yet he is still the most genuinely naïve and innocent person I've ever seen.  
  
He's reminiscent of the old Willow. Willow who was meek in high school with shades of crayon brakey Willow evident in warm coloured clothing and honest smiles. He knows the severity of everything that's transpired, but yet still seems ignorant to the possible doom we may all face.  
  
Ignorant even more so in his slumber. He curls his knees toward his chest in his sleep, wraps his arms around himself, whimpering softly, inaudibly. Dusky gold hair, less gelled, brushes against his pale forehead, lips sometimes curl in a smile, sometimes a pout or frown. His dreams are almost readable in his expressive features.  
  
Often I yearn to reach out and brush a finger down the side of his face, over his lips. To pull him into my arms, and give him the comfort he secretly prays for. I never do. I don't know if I ever could.  
  
Never have I felt this way before. Noticed another guy like this. Sure I snuck peeks in the locker room or at the urinals, but I never noticed a guy in a way that tightened my chest, sped up my heart and made me tremble just to think about touching him.  
  
Could this be a part of the reason why I couldn't commit myself to Anya when that time had come? It's a possibility that some small portion of my subconscious knew there would be a new desire awoken within me in time. I had to save her from the pain of this eventuality. We haven't even fully repaired the damage between us, and some how I don't think these new feelings will help any.  
  
I'm not even sure what could come of this - this whatever this is that I feel. Sometimes those inaudible murmurs of sleep are intermitted with the soft whispers of their names. Warren. Said in such desperation, with a hint of anguish. Volumes of truths about their relationship are revealed in the way he mutters that name, and yet those volumes are unreadable to me as if they were in some ancient foreign tongue. Jonathan. Whispered softly into the night, breathed with loyalty, trust, hope. If Andrew had one true friend in the world it had been Jonathan. Why he took that away from himself, I'll never begin to fathom. My heart sinks to hear him speak their names. Not a jealousy sort of sinking, but it's at those moments that I get a glimpse of how lonely he must be. They were three guys who banded together because all their lives they'd been lonely, had gone seemingly unnoticed. And now he's without their familiarity, and now he must be lonely again. He would never admit it, not that I know of. And he doesn't show it. But so much about him is made evident only while he sleeps.  
  
Things have been gradually becoming more and more complicated for years. For the past seven years. And this is just one more twist in the road of life that Xander Harris travels. And will hopefully continue to travel for many more years to come if this moment's Big Bad doesn't get his way. A curve in the road that I once thought was straight as an arrow. A curve that winds me toward a fragile, golden haired boy who annoys me and delights me at the same time.  
  
I can't possibly conceal these feelings any longer. 


	2. Drawing the Story

Xander sat in the basement.the basement of the Summers' house where Spike was kept. The bleached blonde vampire wasn't around, so Xander sought his solitude there. He leaned his head back against the wall, knees to his chest, arms folded over them. His head was tilted to the side ever so slightly, his eyes on the floor. Above, the familiar sounds of those who shared the household could be heard. With a house that was for the most part over flowing with estrogen, there was so wondering why Xander would hide away from them.  
  
Where's Xander? The voices upstairs were muffled, faint, but this one was easily distinguished with its authoritative tone. Dawn, look upstairs. Andrew, check the basement. Talking ceased. Footsteps echoed up the stairs to the second the floor. Andrew! Silence. And an interval where it was likely that she clutched his collar in her fist, forcing obedience out of him. There was no sense in arguing with the Slayer.  
  
Cautiously, he descended down the stairs into the basement. "Xander?" His voice barely broke above a whisper, "Xander, are you down here?" He stepped off the final stair and into the soft glow of light from the bulb that hung overhead.  
  
"Yeah, I'm here."  
  
"Oh, good. I'll go tell Buffy," He turned to start back up the stairs, but paused before taking the first step. He pivoted to face Xander, regarded him for a moment, and then joined him on the basement floor.  
  
"Something wrong?"  
  
"No, everything's fi-"  
  
"Well, 'cause you can tell me if anything is wrong. I mean, you know, if you wanted to that is," He never looked at Xander, merely fingered the sleeve of his shirt.  
  
"Thanks, but thing's are -"  
  
"Is it Anya?"  
  
"What? Oh, no. No, definitely not. Her and I are done for good. Finito. No more."  
  
"Buffy?"  
  
"No, I'm so over that."  
  
"Uhm, Willow?  
  
Xander turned brown eyes toward the boy, whose own gaze was still fixated on his sleeve. A slight look of confusion graced Xander's face.  
  
"It's not a girl."  
  
"Oh." Andrew finally moved his gaze from sleeve to face. "Oh?"  
  
"No. No, it's not.I mean, I." His face went pink; he quickly moved his eyes from Andrew's face to the floor. Idly, awkwardly, he traced patterns on the bare floor.  
  
"Well, you know, it is ok if.I mean, you know, it's not a bad thing if you.if you're inclined that way." Andrew watched Xander's finger move along the floor for the split second between his words being spoken and Xander's eyes meeting his again.  
  
"But I'm not."  
  
"Yeah, I know.I'm just saying.it's, uh, fine if you are."  
  
Silence. Footsteps and muffled voices above. Buffy and the gang most likely waiting on their two cohorts in the basement. Neither was inclined to move. They sat in awkward silence, Xander again drawing on the floor with a finger, Andrew watching. Xander glanced up at him as if sensing his gaze.  
  
"I.uhm, well.Xander, I .there's no guarantee that we'll all live through this.this war, and I.I wanted to thank you. You know, for.being so nice to me. I mean, sure you were mean to me at first and you, you tied me up and stuff, but.you've been nicer to me than most people. And, well, thank you."  
  
"You're not as bad as I thought. Even for a mu-nerd." They exchanged smiles, Andrew's cheeks pinkening. "You're really not bad at all," he reiterated. They stared for a while before Xander leaned in and brushed his lips across Andrew's, barely touching them. He cupped Andrew's face in his hands and pulled his lips in for a kiss.  
  
I remained in the shadows, watching them. They kissed awkwardly, heatedly. They moved to the bed, fumbled with zippers and clothes. Were circumstances different, this would have felt more voyeuristic as I watched Xander claim the last thing I ever had going for me.  
  
Andrew was still as beautiful as ever. Dirty blonde hair a perfect contrast to his pale skin. Skin I knew to be soft to the touch. Skin now glistened in sweat, covered in kisses from Xander's lips, and not mine. There was a feeling in me; one that compared to the way my chest ached every time I looked at Andrew just months ago. I felt forgotten. My life began and ended in a full circle of neglect. Of going unnoticed and unwanted. With the final thing said to me being "None of them care about you." My existence now passed, and still I remain the furthest thing from everyone's mind. It was to be expected though, and not just because of there was an apocalypse in full swing.  
  
There was a certain amount of beauty to their lovemaking. I was assured then that Andrew would be ok. I could tell, even if they couldn't, that there was a love between them that would ultimately protect them both. I had been the last person Andrew had left in his life, but now I could rest easier knowing that he'd found his way into someone else's heart.  
  
"What do you want?" His eyes, that gorgeous blue, fell upon me when he and Xander had finished. Those eyes were tinted with mistrust, and I knew it was because he mistook me for The First. I smiled at him. "Go-go away, I- I'm not going to fall for your tricks again. You're not Jonathan."  
  
Xander followed his gaze, wrapped his arms tight around Andrew when he spotted me standing just a foot from the bed. I kept smiling. Perhaps it was the fact that I didn't speak that made Andrew realize that I wasn't an apparition of evil.  
  
"Jonathan?" He sat up, prepared to stand, but I shook my head. He sat there, stared at me, as if having completely forgotten the warm body beside him. There were so many things that I could've said to him then. A thousand or more that had needed to be said in my life, but that were never spoken. I couldn't manage a syllable of any of those things.  
  
His lips parted, as if to speak. I knew that he had just as many things to say to me as I did to him. Every word he tried to say caught in his throat and was made audible in the form of soft indistinguishable noises. So much of what he wanted to tell me was evident in his eyes though. He was sorry. Sorry for taking my life.  
  
The closest he came to saying anything was when he mouthed 'I'm sorry. I love you.' I smiled, and faded back into the darkness of the basement. I couldn't allow myself to impede on his life for any longer. He stared after me for a while, and then turned back to Xander.  
  
"It was Jonathan. It was really.it was really.him."  
  
"How do you know?"  
  
"I just.I just did." 


End file.
